


Harbor'd in the Sleepy West

by Persiflager



Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout
Genre: Gen, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9519845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: Coda to 'Kill Now, Pay Later' from 'Trio for Blunt Instruments'.Wolfe plays with his globe.





	

The day after John Mercer was arrested for the murders of Pete Vassos and Dennis Ashby, Wolfe was in a sour mood. He made unnecessary remarks about my choice of tie, upset Fritz by veto-ing the use of tarragon in the sauce Fritz was making for lunch, and barely said two words to me while we were eating. After lunch he sat in the chair behind his desk, picked up his book, sighed, put it back down, heaved himself up, and wandered across the room to play with his globe.

I didn’t blame him. Not only had he been put to all the effort of working without a nickel to show for it, but we were still out a bootblack and his shoes were starting to lose their shine. I would have to find someone new who could get the polishing done without saying or doing anything that annoyed Wolfe, and that could take some time. 

“How much would an airline ticket from New York to Athens cost?” he asked suddenly.

I told him. “If you’re thinking of taking a little trip, please allow me the pleasure of telling Cramer. Saul tells me that he was discourteous in his questioning and therefore he has a kick coming.”

Wolfe scowled. 

“Or, if it’s me you’re thinking of sending, then I would like to point out that Miss Rowan has made clear her desire to show the Greek islands to me, or possibly me to them, and therefore it would kill two birds with one stone if I took a short holiday so that the islands and I could become acquainted.”

“You wouldn’t appreciate them,” said Wolfe.

“Maybe not, but the real question is, would they appreciate me?”

Wolfe didn’t respond. Instead he stood there, holding the globe in place with one finger, staring down at it in concentration, which meant that any witty comments I made would go to waste.

I picked up the telephone and started hunting for a bootblack.  
…  
Wolfe looked down to where his finger was touching the globe, in the middle of the Aegean Sea. He looked down, down through wisps of cloud to the dark, unruly blue sea below, until the cry of gulls rang in his ears and the wind ruffled his hair and he could taste the salt spray on his tongue, and then he flew, impossibly fast, skimming across the ocean’s surface, weaving in and out of the islands and narrowly dodging a passing ferry and finally coming to rest on a stony beach which was empty apart from a lone figure paddling in the shallows.

Looking around, Wolfe spotted a boulder that was large enough to be a passable chair, and went and sat down on it and watched the sun set. A pair of shoes with the socks tucked inside lay nearby on top of a red cotton towel.

The figure approached, silhouetted against the orange sky. He sat down and proceeded to dry his feet methodically, towelling carefully between his toes, before replacing his socks and shoes and finally rolling his trousers back down to their proper length.

“Hello,” said Pete Vassos.

“Good evening,” said Wolfe courteously. “Are you well?”

“For a dead man, I seem to be doing pretty well,” said Pete. “Is this your doing?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Wolfe. “I took the liberty of assuming that this is what you’d intended to do with the money you’d saved. Was I correct?”

“It was what I’d told myself I’d do, after Elma was married and had a home of her own. I’m not sure I ever really believed it, but it was a nice thought.” He looked at Wolfe. “Did she get married?”

“The ceremony is next week,” said Wolfe. “Mr Busch took the liberty of inviting Mr Goodwin and me.”

“Ah well, that’s something,” said Pete. He looked around at the deserted beach. “What is this place?”

“The island of Naxos, largest of the Cyclades. In myth, the place where Theseus rather churlishly abandoned Ariadne after she helped him escape from the Minotaur, and where she went on to meet and fall in love with Dionysus, god of wine and festivities, who was the island’s protector.” He pointed along the beach to the distant lights of a village about a mile away. “There’s a restaurant over there that serves excellent squid.”

“Yes, I’ve tried it,” said Pete, pulling a face. “Funny thing, I didn’t have to pay, and they brought me food and wine without asking.” He looked at Wolfe. “So what I’m wondering is, is this some kind of afterlife? Or some magic you’re doing?”

“Perhaps I have an enchanted globe that lets me see the world as I wish without leaving my office, and I have placed you in it for reasons of my own,” said Wolfe. “Or perhaps this is all a figment of my imagination. Once you start allowing the impossible, the explanations are almost limitless.”

Pete nodded and scratched the back of his neck. “Do you feel guilty about my death?” His tone was curious, not accusatory.

“No,” said Wolfe. “Why should I? I didn’t kill you, and if you’d followed my advice you’d probably be alive today.”

“Ah well.” Pete looked across to the lights of the village, brighter now against the darkening sky, and stood up, brushing off his trousers as he did so. “I should head back now while I can still see.”

“Of course.” Wolfe took a deep breath before levering himself up off the rock and onto his feet.

“Will I see you here again?”

“Perhaps.”

“Til next time, then,” said Pete. Then he grinned and stuck out his hand. “It was a pleasure, Mr Wolfe.”

Wolfe took his hand and shook it. “Goodbye, Mr Vassos.”

…  
“- yeah? Thanks, Doc, I appreciate it.” 

Archie cradled the telephone and looked at Wolfe. “Doc Vollmer gets his shoes shined every Thursday by a man called Hank Barrowman. Vollmer recommends him on grounds of competence and time-keeping but was not able to confirm if he has any interest in learning about ancient history.”

“Pfui,” said Wolfe, on principle. Then, grudgingly, “Ask Mr Parker. His shoes are always well-shined. And Orrie.”

“Not Orrie, he goes to a stand. I’ll try Parker.”

Wolfe grunted and wandered over to the bookshelves. As he listened to Archie dial Parker’s number and flirt with Parker’s secretary, he found his gaze drawn to a particular shelf.

“When is Miss Vassos’s wedding?” he asked when Archie had hung up the telephone again.

“Next Sunday.”

“Do you intend to go?”

“I do not. You know how I feel about weddings - they are for relatives of the couple and women who enjoy crying, and I am neither. Besides, I have plans.”

“Then we should send a gift. Order a copy of Gibbons’s ‘History of Ancient Greece’.”

Wolfe glared at Archie in anticipation of a smart remark, but Archie simply said, “Yes, sir,” and reached for the relevant catalogue.

Impulse satisfied, Wolfe returned to his chair, sat down, sighed happily, and picked up his book.


End file.
